absence from grace
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: There was a tavern in Mercia that was often frequented by a vampire.


The girl was small, blonde, and lithe, her vindictive smile barely concealing a hidden ferocity.

Merlin had been watching her for a good three months, a steady eye on her every move, and he knew for a fact that she was not just another one Mercia's townsfolk with a hint of nobility in her face that often frequented the local tavern.

He had followed her back to her home, or rather, her lair, on more than one occasion, draped behind a magical veil that kept him out of her keen view. The cave she resided in was littered with bodies, bodies of the men and women she had escorted home from the Oakshead, where she would flirt mercilessly with whoever came in before taking them and sucking them dry of blood.

She was a vampire.

Merlin had seen her create so many dead humans. It should have made him feel guilty, watching her fangs elongate and sink into the milky flesh of passing travelers that wouldn't be missed, but it didn't.

He hadn't felt guilt since Arthur.

He hadn't felt much of anything since Arthur.

Anyway, it wasn't as if watching her kill had no purpose.

And tonight, he would find out if his efforts had been worth it.

The tavern was one of her favorite spots – it was easier to pick up drunkards, as their inhibitions and reflexes would be slowed. She was up at the bar now, not talking to anyone else, just sipping on a pint of mead, so Merlin felt as if his chances would be decent, so long as he played his part right.

Up until the moment where he could let his role fade away.

He sidled up next to her, dropping into the recently vacated seat to her right. "'Lo."

Her gaze flickered over him, most likely judging his tattered clothing and the dark bags underneath his eyes, but Merlin had faith that he would succeed in this.

He had to succeed.

She spoke, and he responded, with just the slightest slur to his words and clumsiness to his actions. Merlin knew how to play this game, he had watched her long enough. It always started with harmless flirting or small talk that hardly mattered, and then she would drag them away, to her cave or, on some nights, to one of the back alleys where not a soul could see them.

"Come with me," she smiled up at him after ten minutes of conversation that hardly counted as conversation. Most of the men and some of the women that fell into this trap foolishly assumed they were going to get a look under her skirts. She was dressed like one of the upper class townsfolk, poor enough to frequent the tavern but rich enough to merit interest.

She knew the game well.

Merlin knew it better. He had always been good at games, especially since he usually cheated.

He was good at cheating.

He followed her, like a lost and panting puppy trailing after its master.

He wondered what his friends would say if they could see him now.

They thought he was dead, of course. Guinevere, Gaius, Gwaine, Leon, Percival – he was long gone to all those in Camelot. Well, he hoped he was. He had never returned home after that final battle, after he lost Arthur. After everyone lost Arthur. He couldn't see his friends' faces, couldn't see his own failure reflected in them.

He couldn't bear it.

And soon he would be as dead as his king, as dead as everyone expected him to be – just not in the same sense.

The girl, or rather, woman led him into the alley. She didn't look a hair over twenty, but for all Merlin knew, she was far past her hundredth birthday, five hundredth, thousandth. There was no telling. Vampires didn't age.

The alley was deserted, as it usually was when the moon was at this height, the dark fast approaching midnight. Her grin was feral as she pressed him against the wall, her lips on his.

Foreplay. Merlin loathed foreplay, but he kissed back, just enough to keep up pretenses. Her lips were harder and coarser than he would expect, but it made them feel more real.

And now it was time.

Merlin spun her around with little struggle, her strength no match for his. She may have superhuman speed and strength, but Merlin had his magic.

Magic was useful for many things.

Stakes were useful for others.

He pressed the sharpened piece of wood to her heart as he kept her in place. When she saw his actions, she began to struggle more, harder, snarling up at him, fangs poking up at him and reaching for his throat. Merlin only laughed.

No one ever expected him to be the dangerous one. It was always fun to be unpredictable.

"Well," the woman seethed up at him, nearly spitting in his face. "What are you waiting for? If you're going to kill me, _kill me_. Don't wait around."

"I'm not going to kill you," Merlin told her, pressing the stake harder against her pale flesh. He may have changed in the months since Arthur died, approaching nearly a year now, but he didn't kill meaninglessly. It wasn't in his nature.

"Then what's the point of this?" She glared fiercely before adding in a derisive "_Warlock_."

"So you've figure that out, then," Merlin nodded along. "Smart. Clever. Thing is, I'm also pretty clever. Which is why I'm going to let you go. On one condition."

"What's this?" She sneered.

"Turn me,"

She hadn't been expecting that, apparently, for her features turned to those of shock and perhaps trepidation. "_What_?"

Vampires, Merlin knew, didn't just drink blood for humans. Sometimes, they turned them into one of their own. He had watched that happen once, too, watched the girl force a barmaid to drink her own blood, and later, seen the same barmaid rise from the grave, demanding blood to sate her thirst.

That was how vampires reproduced. They shared blood with a human.

That was what Merlin needed her to do to him, what he needed to become, transform into. He had no other choice.

Arthur was going to return, and Merlin was going to be there when he did. There was no other option, no alternate path to head down. He had to wait, wait for his king, wait for his friend; wait for the one person who meant everything to him. Even if it took an eternity – he _had _to.

But he couldn't make it through eons on his own.

Assistance would be required.

Turning into a vampire, while it wasn't a choice he would make under any other circumstances, seemed the safest and most viable option. It had its drawbacks – he would no longer have the ability to walk in sunlight or see his own reflection, and he would depend on blood to survive; but he _would_ survive.

If he was a vampire, hardly anything could kill him. Mix the powers of a vampire with his own magical means, and he would live for thousands of years if necessary.

And for Arthur, everything was necessary. Merlin couldn't leave him alone, to fend for himself. He was going to be there.

"You heard me," Merlin told the vampire. "Turn me into one of you. I'm not asking."

Her voice dripping in utter disdain, she asked "You trust me to keep my word on that once you pull the stake away?"

"Nope," Merlin replied, smiling sunnily, which probably took her by surprise, much like this whole night. "That's why the stake is staying right here. Turn me, and I take it away."

"You'll hardly be in a state for that once I drink from you," she raised a challenging eyebrow.

"You underestimate me," Merlin said, dropping both of his hands to his side, letting go of the stake. Despite the lack of physical contact, the instrument that would bring the girl death was still hard against her chest, kept up with only the tiniest concentration on Merlin's part. Her eyes widened fractionally, showing a hint of fear, and he knew he was victorious. "Turn me."

"Why?" she asked, and for the first time, her tone wasn't completely laced in venom. "Why do you choose death, choose this half-life? Why willing become a monster?"

_Because_, Merlin thought silently, _maybe that's the only way the pain will stop._

Merlin always knew losing Arthur would hurt worse than anything he could possibly imagine, but the turmoil inside of him was too much for him to bear. Letting himself die, letting a beast take his place, might let the pain simmer down so it was only flickering embers instead of a roaring fire that threatened to consume forests.

A beating heart was fragile. Maybe without the thrum of a pulse, Merlin's feelings would fade into nothingness until a beast was all he was.

He almost hoped for it.

He didn't say that, of course, could never say that. Instead, he just replied with a simple "How about you just turn me and we'll go our separate ways?"

She regarded for a second with anger and fear, and then something changed in her yellow eyes. She sighed, defeated. "Come closer."

Merlin leaned in as her fangs grew out once more, longer and longer by the second, getting closer and closer to Merlin's exposed flesh, and he became suddenly aware of how loudly and quickly his heart was beating, and reveled in that feeling for what was going to be the last time –

She sank into his neck, and with a twist of pain, everything was gone.

When Merlin opened his eyes again, he was underground, dirt filling his mouth and nostrils.

He choked, expecting to be cut off from the flow of air, but as his mental functions returned to him, he remembered that air was no longer a necessity to him.

He reached upwards, clawing angrily at the soil above his head. Knowing his sire, he was probably buried deep in the ground. She was a vindictive sort that probably didn't take well to threats. Luckily, the stake had been enchanted to follow her and plunge into her breast if she did anything but comply with Merlin's demands.

Merlin had never before pulled off quite that large scale of such a delicate piece of work. His magic tended to go for bigger and flashier showcases –

Magic.

Right. He didn't have to rip apart his fingernails to get out of this early, or honestly, not so early grave.

Letting the steady thrum of magic in his veins lead him on, Merlin cleared a path in the dirt, pushing himself upwards bit by bit until he could see the night sky above him.

Letting the cold night air wash over him, Merlin hoisted himself out the patch of dirt and collapsed on the grassy ground. It was outside of the town where the vampire girl's tavern was located, most likely the countryside. Possibly the woods, as there were quite a few trees.

It was only after a few moments of lying there and reveling in the fact that his plan had worked, that he had no pulse, no heartbeat, no nothing, that that Merlin realized he was thirsty.

So, _so_ thirsty.

Here was the part Merlin had been dreading most. He couldn't take a human life, an innocent human life, could never – well, he could have on Arthur's behalf, but this wasn't Arthur, this was Merlin and this new monster in his chest, roaring at him to find the nearest available living, breathing being and rip their throat out.

Luckily, a rabbit happened to be passing by.

Merlin could kill a rabbit.

And he did, caught it instantly with magic, and with only a twitch of regret, snapped its neck, barely even looking at it before diving to the ground, grabbing the tiny carcass and reaching it up to his lips. His teeth grew, and he expected it to hurt, but it didn't. Nothing hurt.

It was glorious.

The blood tasted like life.

New York City at night was beautiful.

Merlin had never seen it in daylight, of course – sometimes it was hard to remember what daylight was even like. He had a windowless, shoebox apartment in Soho that he spent his days in, unless a certain emergency called him outdoors, where he would stick to the shadows for fear of lighting on fire.

He missed the sun, of course, missed light, but he would have been lost in darkness even if he was allowed to walk in daylight. It was why he loved New York so; there were lights everywhere, every second. It was bright and beaming; the business and hustle was perfect for someone trying to blend into the dark.

Surviving here was easy, not like it was in a small town. Merlin had tried small towns before, and usually ended up being accused of something or other, between his sorcery and his vampirism. It was a miracle he wasn't wanted dead or alive in every country in the world.

He _had_ been to all of them, after all.

This city, though, this city. It was just gorgeous, his perfect haven. It was no Camelot, of course, Camelot could never be replaced, but for Merlin, Camelot was the place where the light lived.

New York City was where the darkness came out to play.

Tonight, though, tonight felt different. The city's air was heavy with something intangible, something Merlin wanted to reach out and grab, hold onto and marvel. Strange. It almost felt like he should drink from this feeling, devour it whole and take it inside himself.

It wasn't often that emotions were like blood to him.

Merlin had originally thought that dependence on blood was the worst part of a vampire's existence, but he had come to learn that it was possibly the best. And this was coming from a vampire who relied solely on animal blood, who bribed a butcher to give him sustenance. He couldn't even imagine how vampires that drank from humans felt about blood.

In all his years, Merlin had never taken blood from a human, a feat that was hardly fathomable to the supernatural community. Vampires were supposed to be monsters that had no regard for human life, no regard for anything at all other than their own bloodlust.

Merlin thought it must be his magic that kept him from becoming a mindless creature. He had his own inner demon, of course, but he had become excellent at ignoring it.

Perhaps it was his memories of Arthur that kept him from going over the brink.

Arthur had told him not to change, after all. And Merlin had most assuredly changed, so maybe this was his own way of compensating for that broken promise of a time long past.

"Sorry!" Merlin had been so caught up in memories of his past that he his body had collided with that of a stranger that had been heading opposite his direction. The street wasn't overly crowded, for it was a cold wintery night, one of Merlin's favorite times of year. He could be outside much more often. "You okay?"

"Fine," the stranger muttered and began to push back into the throng, but Merlin, an indescribable interest piqued, reached for the man's arm.

"Hey, mate, I just –" The man turned, giving Merlin a good look at him. His mouth fell open in shock, and if he had a heartbeat, it would have been going out of control. "Arthur."

"Who are –?" Arthur's features crinkled up, and oh Gods, this was him. Blond hair, crooked white teeth, and a long nose, eyes that shone cerulean and regarded him with a mixture of confusion and contempt, and even though Merlin wasn't even sure if it was possible for him to cry anymore, he was almost positive that he was nearing the edge. "I…I know you, don't I?"

"_Arthur_," Merlin repeated, because he could and he hadn't in so very long. He felt – he didn't know how he felt. There was only one true word for it.

_Alive. _

He felt alive. He hadn't had a pulse in a thousand years, and yet standing here with the person he had been waiting for all this time, the reason behind his dead heart, and he made Merlin feel alive.

"You," Arthur breathed, and his eyes changed to those of recognition and understanding, and Merlin couldn't help but grin. "Merlin."

"Welcome back," Merlin said quietly as the crowd moved around them. "Prat."

"I – I don't know what to say," Arthur said, his voice one of wonderment in a way that caused Merlin's hands to shake. "I can't…"

"Come back to my apartment," Merlin suggested. "It's not very nice, but we can talk there."

"Okay," Arthur nodded. "I can do that. I just – Christ, Merlin. You're here. You're really here."

"I never left."

"What did you mean, never?"

Of course, that was Arthur's first question. Merlin didn't particularly want to answer it. He could feel the judgment already; feel the harsh words that Arthur was sure to slap him with, along with the disgust and possibly hatred. But Arthur had dealt with Merlin's magic, so perhaps this would be considered secondary to that reveal.

"I never died," Merlin threw himself onto his lumpy couch that Arthur eyed in a dismayed sort of way, because of course he was still a rich, posh prat who was far above Merlin's dank, inexpensive, not to mention entirely devoid of light, apartment. "At least, not in the typical sense."

"What – how?" Arthur demanded as he sat himself down on Merlin's left, glaring fiercely at him. "Don't tell me you did something stupid and brave and brainless –"

"You got two out of three right," Merlin said with an uncomfortable shrug. "I wouldn't call what I did brave."

"Tell me."

Merlin didn't tell him. He showed him.

With a sigh, he turned to Arthur, looking him directly in the eye, and oh God, those eyes, Merlin had missed those eyes so much – and bared his teeth, letting his fangs hiss out until they were fully formed.

Arthur stared.

And stared more.

And then stared even more.

"Arthur…?" Merlin asked hesitantly, retracting his own personal weapon arsenal. Arthur's face was entirely unchanged from that of pure shock. Merlin hadn't enjoyed that, not even slightly. Not only did he not want Arthur's opinion of him to be lowered by this information, but he could feel Arthur's blood, feel it rushing hot and heavy beneath his fragile, breakable skin….and Merlin was never going to let his mind go there.

After a moment's silence, Arthur whispered, voice filled to the brim with dread, "Vampire."

"I'm sorry?" Merlin offered weakly. "I just…I didn't know any other way. And I had to stay alive. I had to be here when you woke up. Or rather, came back to life."

"I just…I can't…How could you?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in complete disbelief. "Merlin, you're…you're a monster. You _chose _to be a monster."

"I'm so, so sorry," Merlin couldn't meet Arthur's eyes; so instead, he looked down at his hands that were coiled tightly in his lap. "I couldn't leave you, Arthur."

"So you chose _this_?" Arthur spat it out like a curse.

"I chose this," Merlin repeated, shaking his head. "Arthur, I…I'm not…I can't…"

"You – do you have a _coven_?" Arthur's features contorted in disgust and Merlin winced. "Is that what a hoard of vampires is called?"

"Yes," Merlin said, and when Arthur's eyes, widened, he quickly corrected, "Yes, that's what a group of vampires is called! I'm not in one. I've never been. Most other vampires I've met hate me on sight."

"Why?"

"I'm an abnormal freak of nature," Merlin told him, a slight smile playing on his lips at a rush of memories. "I don't drink from humans."

"You don't – you've never….?" Arthur trailed off uncertainly.

"I promise, Arthur, I've never killed a human for blood," Merlin said. "I use animal blood only."

Arthur was quiet for a moment before saying, his eyes burning a hole in the floorboards, "You used to hate hunting."

"I know. I've had to make a few adjustments."

Arthur looked back up, and Merlin was shocked to see droplets in his eyes. "You stupid bastard. How could you?"

"Because – because of _you_," something inside of Merlin broke at that moment, and he let out a slew of feeling, something he hadn't done in what felt like an eternity. "I chose it for you. It's all for you, Arthur, everything's for you. I know that it isn't ideal; I know that I'm an idiot and a coward, but I only did this because I couldn't bear the thought of you ever being alone. So please, for the love of all that is holy, which I know doesn't include me, just…just let me hold you. Arthur, please, just let me hold you again."

Merlin hated himself for the fact that he wasn't crying, but there were no tears to shed, not anymore. Arthur seemed to realize this, though, seemed to realize everything all at once, for his expression changed from one of anger and suffering to one of just the tiniest hint of understanding, and it was so reminiscent of their last few days together, in those woods heading to Avalon, that Merlin nearly broke with the fresh emotion flying through him.

The heart that had finished beating over a thousand years ago was made whole again, even in its dead and dilapidated state.

Because Arthur had reached over, and he was in Merlin's arms, he was so warm and pliant and _real_ that Merlin could hardly contain himself. He gripped him tighter, one arm hooked around his neck and the other his middle, and Arthur's hands were on his back; they were both shaking like mad, Arthur's heart was beating so loudly, and Merlin had never been more thankful that he didn't need oxygen, for he could bury his face in the crook of Arthur's neck for as long as he wanted.

His neck that was coursing with rich, life-giving blood that called out to Merlin, sang to him sweet lullabies of love and forever, his pretty red blood that Merlin had seen spill out so many times before but hadn't been able to truly appreciate, blood that would bring Merlin to life…

Merlin pulled his face away, gasping and shoving Arthur away from him. Where the hell had _that _come from? He'd wanted to drink from humans before, but not like this, never like this, and not Arthur. No. No, no, no. He wouldn't. He _couldn't_.

"…Merlin, what's the matter?" Arthur was still sitting in the same position, his face a myriad of confusion. He looked so utterly lost. Merlin was glad that he didn't reach out, because he didn't want to brush his hand away.

"I – I'm so sorry, Arthur, so sorry," Merlin whispered into his hands, trying to control his rapidly increasing fangs. Thankfully, they were retracting, and they would _stay _that way, at least if Merlin had anything to say with it and not the demon clawing at his chest, desperate to get out.

"You've said that already," Arthur's chuckle wasn't strong, but it was enough for Merlin to catch his gaze once again with a half-smile. "So what's wrong?"

"Blood." Merlin had never been one for the whole 'honesty is the best policy' – his life was proof enough of that. Still, after all this time, Arthur deserved nothing but the truth. "Figures, doesn't it, that yours is more tempting than anyone else's in a good fifteen hundred years. Figures. Just fucking figures."

"You..._my_ blood?"

Merlin was relieved to find that Arthur's tone no longer conveyed that complete revolt, although there were still inklings of disbelief and fear. But those, obviously, were to be expected.

"I don't drink from humans," Merlin said again, for his own sake more than Arthur's. "Let alone from you. Don't worry; I'm very good at controlling bloodlust."

"Is that what it is?" Arthur said, his voice carefully feigning casualness, but Merlin saw right through the sham. He knew Arthur better than he knew himself, and that was a fact that no amount of years or the stopping of both of their hearts could change. "Lust?"

"Sort of," Merlin replied with a shrug. He'd never had to explain this to anyone before. "It's not like, sexual lust, although the two can coincide," he determinedly didn't look at Arthur, "it's just a need for blood. I can always sense blood around me, but yours in particular…I don't know. Maybe it's different if it's someone that you love."

"Someone you love," Arthur echoed, and it wasn't a question, just a smile hidden behind a slightly mocking tone.

"Like you didn't already know that," Merlin rolled his eyes as warmth unlike any other spread through his long cold body. "I just...As a vampire, I've never been around someone that meant anything to me personally."

"You mean in all this time, you've never…?"

"I've never a lot of things," Merlin responded quietly, averting his eyes once more away from the blue orbs boring into his own. Realizing he probably sounded far too depressed for what was possibly the happiest day of his existence, he brightened with "Right, that's enough about me. I've had an eternity to think about me. Tell me about you. Who are you here? Where are you from? I'm guessing it's not Manhattan, with that accent."

"I'm Arthur Richardson," Arthur replied with just the smallest of grins, leaning back against the sofa and closer to Merlin's side. "From London. I'm here on a business trip with my father."

"Is it Uther?" Merlin winced internally. If Uther hadn't hated him already, what with the former king's ghost's discovery of his magical gifts, the vampire thing would really throw a curve ball into the game.

"His name's Matthew," Arthur said.

"Thank God," Merlin said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I will not get burned at the stake."

Arthur was silent, and then, eyebrows creasing together in concern, asked "Would that kill you now? Burning?"

"One of the only things that would," Merlin said. "Burning, decapitation, or a wooden stake through my heart – that's what does the deed."

"But you're already dead, aren't you?" Arthur asked, looking Merlin square in the eye, and Merlin knew that this was a question that an honest and true answer would be needed for.

"Yes," Merlin owed it to Arthur to maintain eye contact. "Yes, I am."

"You died…for me," Arthur said slowly, as if fathoming it out and not quite understanding the whole necessity of the action.

"I always said I would," Merlin smiled sadly over at him, and without taking the time to consider his movements, propelled himself across the couch so that he was at Arthur's side again, with Arthur's warm body pressed up in perfect alignment with his own. Reaching downward, Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand reassuringly.

Arthur glanced across at him, and with his opposite hand wavering, he reached across the now miniscule distance between the two of them to rest it against Merlin's heart.

"It doesn't beat," Arthur said softly, screwing his eyes tightly. "Gods, Merlin, it doesn't beat."

"I'm sorry," Merlin didn't know how to comfort Arthur; it was his own fault that the horribly pained expression written across Arthur's features was there in the first place.

Arthur barely moved when he spoke. "You keep saying that."

"Because I mean it," Merlin said. "I…I promised you that I wouldn't change, but I did. I hate that I did, I hate it so much. I let you down, and I'm so, so sorry."

"Not sorry enough that you wouldn't have done this, though," Arthur stated, his palm against Merlin's chest pressing harder now, as if he was trying to inflict some sort of pain, or perhaps just a single reaction at all.

Merlin took his own hand, and covering Arthur's, guided it away from the thing that set him apart most from humanity. Arthur didn't fight it, didn't even protest the tiniest bit, just gave in. "No."

"I didn't think so."

"Would apologizing again make it better?"

"No."

"What would?" Merlin wished he could lean further into Arthur, wind his arms around him and hold him again, but he wasn't worthy of that, couldn't be. That had been made clear enough.

"I don't know," Arthur sighed heavily, shifting slightly away from Merlin so that they were no longer touching in any place other than their adjoined hands, and Merlin held his own grip even more firmly. "I just wish you hadn't done this."

"And I wish that you would have lived," Merlin said, hating himself instantly for the look of tortured regret that appeared on Arthur's face. "Guess we both have shit luck."

"Guess so."

They were silent a beat.

Then Arthur, his mouth clumsy and forming his words very carefully, grip growing tighter against Merlin's own and eyes shining over at him, asked "If I kiss you right now, will you bite me?"

Merlin was sure that even if his heart was still whole and pumping blood, it would have short-circuited in that instant. "Were you planning on kissing me?"

"Not sure," Arthur's voice was slightly breathless as he gazed across at Merlin, who wished his expression had been more along the lines of fond than of his current expression of unaltered nerves. "See, I really wanted to in the street when I first saw you, because I was so happy that you were there, that _we _were there. But then there was this. I don't know how to handle _this_."

"Me neither," Merlin shook his head, incredulous at this strange direction, this turn they had never before taken. It scared the hell out of him. "I…If you still…I promise I won't drink."

And they were together in an instant, lips entangled in a heated frenzy, limbs grasping for any form of skin, and oh God, this was better than Merlin had ever imagined it being, because of course he had imagined it, imagined what it would be like if Arthur came back and wanted this, it was every wandering, hopeless fantasy come true and more, Arthur warm and beautiful, heart beating beneath his own, and Merlin barely noticed the bloodlust, the cries of what lay beneath the flesh, because the flesh was obviously a much more pressing matter right now…

It was a good thing Merlin didn't need to breathe.

"We can go to Avalon," Merlin whispered into Arthur's ear later that night, as they lay curled up against the sofa. "It's beautiful at night. Well, not that I've seen it very often in the daytime. But it's supernatural, almost unreal, seeing it after the sun goes down. The stars, the moon…I'm glad that you got to rest there."

"Me, too," Arthur said, his breath tickling Merlin's skin. "Even if I don't remember it. And I never told you…I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you wait, made you turn into…what you did. If I had lived, if I had done something different…"

"Shh," Merlin carded a hand through Arthur's mussed hair. "Let's just say that we both did some stupid things."

"May we continue to do so for many years," Arthur turned around to grin lazily up at Merlin.

"I'm going to hold you to that."


End file.
